


To Steal A Kiss

by Jajewtd



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: I got the idea from a random prompt about trying to steal a wallet while kissing, M/M, i wrote it at like late o clock, theres swearing too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 01:21:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2562998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jajewtd/pseuds/Jajewtd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"After the asylum, Miles had had enough problems. He's lost his fingers, his sanity and his peace of mind. Now he's lost his job, his money, and now he's in the process of losing his house." All he has to do is take some money for himself. Yeah, it may be from someone as messed up as him, but you you can't really blame him for trying, can you?</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Steal A Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> I was gonna edit this and revise it but I don't know what to do. This is my first fanfic posting ever, and keep in mind that I wrote this right before a really big marching band competition on my iPod for a friend on the bus ride. I will post more stories of outlast with actual chapters that are revised and edited, but take this sample of what I like writing. I got the idea from a prompt about trying to steal a person's wallet while kissing them.

    After the asylum, Miles had had enough problems. He's lost his fingers, his sanity and his peace of mind. Now he's lost his job, his money, and now he's in the process of losing his house. All this because his boss didn't want someone who would have an "episode" whilst talking to a client. They just didn't want to be responsible for any of his medical bills or therapy needs. So now he was lonely and out of luck, wandering in the city half drunk and needing money for food. He was walking into a bar desperately needing something to do, when he found a temporary solution to his problems. There, in a corner booth was a man who looked very lonely, and _very_  tipsy. Thinking this was his lucky chance, he walked over to the man's booth and put on as much of a friendly smile he could. "May I sit here?" He asked, trying his hardest to seem socially acceptable without two of his fingers. He probably looked like hell and smelled like shit, but you never know people's preferences nowadays.

    The man in the booth hesitated for a moment, wondering why in the hell a man like this would just come and talk to someone hiding in the corner of a bar. He looked he man up and down, thinking how familiar the standing man looked, but shook off the feeling immediately. The man in the booth - Waylon - thought about what the man asked and without thinking immediately said, "Sure, why not. I haven't got anyone else to talk to. He didn't mean to say the last part, but it was too late to take it back. Maybe this was Miles' lucky day, because the man accepted his request. He sat down in the booth, but took the spot next to the man sitting down. If this plan were to work, they'd have to be very close, and one of them very drunk. "My name is Miles by the way, Miles Upshur. What's yours?" That's why he looked so familiar. _Miles Upshur_ , the man Waylon had sent that email to. It's an odd coincidence that he's here, but maybe it has no real meaning. If the man was here, he must have never gone to the asylum, which lifts a lot of guilt from Waylon's shoulders. Looking at the man more closely, however, Waylon noticed that Miles had only eight fingers. Which is very odd, considering last he knew the man had all ten, and it would be hard to type with only eight. "Waylon, Waylon Park. I, uh, I know you. I sent you an email about that place I was working at, about Mount Massive. Seeing you here, I'm so glad you couldn't have been here since you're alive. What happened to you're fingers, though?" 

    This man is the one who condemned him to that place? And he was _alive_? This was a surprise. Maybe there was a reason for Miles wanting to come over here besides for money, but he won't say that to Waylon. What happened to Miles' fingers? Oh, Waylon had no idea, considering the fact he thought that if you were alive it was proof you weren't in that asylum. Miles realized it wouldn't be too hard to go through with his plan, considering how badly he wanted to be drunk right now. "Heh, so that was you who sent me to that death trap? Well, sorry to say but, I lost my fingers in the place i 'never went to.'" Miles laughed, a bit uncomfortable. "And you were the other survivor in the stories who went to that place? God man, considering our situation we probably need to talk. And we need a _lot_ of drinks." Miles chuckled, seeing the shock and relief settle on Waylon's face. Maybe the man thought he was going to be attacked for sending Miles to that hell, but he relaxed at Miles' 'jokes'. "Hey, does that mean you're that guy who took my car?" Miles asked, waving a waiter to come over. They were most certainly going to need to be more drunk for this.

 

 

    Four hours and a shit load of digested alcohol later, the two men acted like they had known each other for forever. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was the knowledge that they had been to the same thing, but the two felt as if they could do anything together, and that's just what Miles wanted. "Hey Way," Miles slurred as best he could, he wasn't quite as drunk as Waylon, but wanted to play the part. "You're actually really, _really_ cool and shit, didya know that? Like, I wish I had known you before all this went to hell. Can I," Miles paused, wrapping an arm around Waylon's midriff. He really does like Waylon, but that man was also a reason he was almost on the streets. "Can I kiss ya, Park? I mean, I guess, like.. Why not, maybe?" Hopefully Waylon would agree to his proposition.

    Maybe it was the alcohol or the dreadful loneliness, but Waylon didn't want to turn down the chance of some level of intimacy with someone. He especially wanted someone who would understand what happened to him. Someone who would get the panic attacks and such. He wanted someone like that so desperately, so he responded, "Why not?" He leaned closer into Miles, not noticing the state they were both in, and never wanted to think that these affections could just be started by alcohol. He brought one arm around Miles' neck, and the other hand to bring his face closer. Oh, he didn't know if he would regret this later, but if neither are in a relationship, and it's just a kiss, then no harm no foul. Waylon scooted closer, basically and Miles' lap and stared in his eyes while he slowly began to lean closer to the other man's lips. Grabbing a bit of Miles' hair and closing her eyes, he initiated the slow kiss, making sure it meant something, making sure that it felt less desperate than Waylon felt.

    Oh, how lucky Miles is for his Plan to begin working. Letting Waylon get as comfortable as he wants, Miles responded to Waylon's affectionate kiss by slowly moving his lips against Waylon's, stroking the man's back. He used one hand to hold Waylon in place, the other to reach lower and lower until he was close to Waylon's back pocket. If the man knew what Miles was going to try, he would punch Miles in the face. Miles groped in the air until he found what he wanted, Waylon's wallet. Trying his hardest to take it, Waylon then moved the slightest bit, so Miles couldn't quite get it. Trying again for the second time, he felt the man's back pocket until he found the man's money again. Just as he grabbed hold, Waylon moved away from Miles' kiss, gasping for air and laughing to himself. "If you wanted me to pay for the drinks, you could've just asked." He laughed, grabbing Miles' hand and setting it on his hip.


End file.
